


i'm lying next to my rock

by magesticturtles



Category: Attack the Block (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1202068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magesticturtles/pseuds/magesticturtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>moses stops sleeping when pest starts coming by in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm lying next to my rock

**Author's Note:**

> there's an astonishing lack of fanfiction for this fandom, and even fewer are moses/pest. funny, that.

moses can't remember the last time things felt this easy; his arm strewn across pest's stomach, a jumble of bare, hairy legs tangled together, the pale boy's hair tickling his nose in a way that makes it itch -- but he can't be bothered enough to reach his arm up to scratch it, not when he's so comfortable. pest is practically naked next to him, bare back pressed to moses' chest, wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs and that stupid fucking hat he always wears. moses, at least, is wearing a shirt, but he can still feel the heat from pest's skin radiating off of him. _  
_

pest hasn't been sleeping the past few weeks -- he knows because whenever he goes over to his flat, or pest comes here, he curls up into moses' side like a kitten and his eyelids close like they're being weighed down by bricks that hang from his lashes. moses pretends to hate it when he wakes up. he shoves pest off him as soon as his eyes start to crack open again, but the feeling of another warm body next to him is too lovely, too comfortable, too reassuring, and he _knows_ pest needs the sleep, so he waits until he's a little more rested.

what's sick is that _he's_ been sleeping fine: he gets through the night, either on his stomach or on his side, without so much as a hiccup. he doesn't wake up until bleary sunlight peeks in through the shades of his window, even when he dreams. and he  _dreams_. he can still hear jerome calling out his name, calling pest's until there was total silence -- all he sees is dennis' head flying toward the girls' room in his helmet, hears the anguished way he'd screamed out for him:  _moses, moses help me, moses_. he sees these things as if he's a different person -- as if he's someone on the outside looking in. 

but he always wakes up, sweating and shaking and crying, in the morning haze. 

moses stops sleeping when pest starts coming by in the middle of the night. the first time pest comes over it's 3 a.m. and moses is still awake, watching some show he doesn't understand (the slang is different and the characters look weird, although that could just be the high messing with his head). he doesn't know if the knock on the door is on the telly at first, but after two or three minutes, when the show's gone on commercial and he starts to hear his name, he gets up to check. 

pest is there, eyes red and when he speaks his throat is scratchy, low. "i keep thinkin' 'bout it" is the only thing he says, muttering the words and holding on to the folds of moses' jacket, fists clenching them like his life depends on it. "i keep thinkin' 'bout it, mos. make it stop." moses doesn't need to be a genius to know what  _it_ is.

(and that's the kicker, ladies and gents: pest has always always always expected moses to make things right -- it's been this way since he can remember, since primary school and beyond, and that's never changed.) 

and moses lets him in because he's high and tired and doesn't remember how to fucking fall asleep without waking up with a cold scream tearing at his throat and he doesn't want pest to be sad by himself. he shuffles him over to the couch, not saying anything, not even breathing, really; just puts an arm around pest's shoulders and sits there through the entirety of the night while the kid sleeps next to him. 

his nan doesn't register that he's gone because he's always back in the morning, with a stupid look on his face like he knows something no one else does, leaving moses to sober up and get some sleep. he doesn't say goodbye to moses before he leaves, because neither of them can stand to _think_ that word anymore, let alone say it, so he just nods at him and whispers something that sounds like a promise. like he'll be back.

it becomes a nightly routine and soon enough moses can't even be alone in his own bloody flat at night without pest's warm breath in his ear. 

not that he minds all too much. 

sometimes they're in the bedroom, sometimes on the couch, in front of the telly, and once they even end up at the kitchen table, thighs barely touching and pest's hand resting on moses' hip under the table. moses still doesn't fall asleep until the other boy leaves. he doesn't want pest to see him so scared. he doesn't want to be so scared.

in the bedroom, pest is almost completely naked, save for the briefs and the hat, and moses stops finding that so stupid. he starts taking off his own shirt before bed. his boxers stay on, and his socks, but for the most part, they're naked, close, warm bodies. they fit. 

tonight, _pest_ can't even sleep, the images are so burned into his skull. every time he tries -- every time moses thinks it's safe for him to relax against his body, he jerks awake, breathing heavy and ragged, gripping moses' thigh behind him like he can save him. pest's fingernails leave little half-moon marks in his skin. he reckons he'll be able to see them the next morning, if he squints.

moses' doesn't say anything, can't -- because he knows that's exactly what he'd be if he didn't sleep through the night. instead he just holds pest closer and lets the gasping subside into low mutters, but that doesn't mean he's fallen asleep. 

pest turns around to face him, his forehead hot and sweat against moses' cool and dry one. he can see, in the dull moonlight, the tears streaming down his face and he wonders vaguely if pest knows that they're there. moses grips his hip and runs the pad of his thumb over the pale skin without thinking. pest brings his right hand to the nape of moses' neck, bringing him closer -- his tears are falling down down  _down_ to his lips and he ignores them, and moses has stopped breathing. 

moses' knee's in between pest's legs, brushing up slightly against his inner thigh, and pest looks down a moment before looking back up, but moses can't stop staring, getting lost in blue eyes and blue feelings and he feels like he's drowning in it, like he's up to his eyes in water.

he doesn't know who decides to move forward (maybe it's both of them), but he feels pest's lips against his own, thin and unsure and needy, before his brain can even register it. and when he does realize it, he's in too deep, hand gripping the other boy's hip tightly and he feels fingertips sliding gently down his back like he's being pulled down under the water as he presses his lips hungrily to pest's.

they pull back, and pest raises a hand -- moses's first thought is that he's about to get slapped or hit for doing that, and he doesn't even blame pest -- to moses' cheek, thumb resting on the bone there and stroking it slightly. "you taste like salt," pest says, frowning slightly as he checks for tears that haven't shed on moses' face. "you're not even crying. that don't make no sense, fam."

moses doesn't bother to let him know that he's crying, because tear tracks and the taste of salt dry and dissappear, the way that these feelings can't. 

 


End file.
